Saturday, July 03, 2004

This guy is speaking in a quick, nervous, reedy sort of voice that makes me think of Woody Allen. I picture him making a lot of jerky hand gesticulations as he talks.

Me: Okay, what is it?
Caller: So you have that column in The Stranger, and you've talked about your submissive, Jae.
Me: Yes...
Caller: And that's the same Jae who's an escort, right? I've seen her ad.
Me: Yes, that's right.
Caller: Well, I've always been, uh, very curious, you know, about submissive role play. Women, I mean, being submissive. To me, I mean.

Based on about fifteen seconds of conversation with this guy, I'm finding it hard to really picture him as a dominant. But hey, none of us popped out of our mother's womb with floggers in our hands, and one should be nice to the new kids.

Me: I understand. So - what question do you have that I can answer for you?
Caller: Uh, well, I was wondering if Jae would be willing to be, uh, submissive. To me. In a scene like the ones you talk about.

This is not what I expected.

Me: Hmmmnn. You know, I really couldn't say. You would need to ask her about that.
Caller: Um, I was – well, I was hoping you'd just tell her she had to do it.

Oh yeah, because a dominant guy like him doesn't want to have to do anything scary like ask her himself. Jesus, how lame is this?

And he doesn't understand that Jae and I don't have that kind of D/s relationship. It's not a formal thing anymore. I really enjoy smacking her around and so, given the opportunity, I'll do that. But she's by no means my slave.

It occurs to me that I'm assuming he means he wants to hire her as a professional submissive. I hope to God he doesn't think that I would order Jae to – well, I don't order her to do anything, really, because that's pretty much a waste of time. Jae isn't going to do a damn thing she doesn't want to do. It's simply smart planning on my part that when I play with Jae, most of the things I tell her I want her to do are things she wants to do anyway, so she does them.

But I'm crystal clear about the fact that I will not be ordering Jae to bottom to some weirdo guy for free. So let's just make sure we're on the same page about that.

Me: I'm actually not involved in any of Jae's business arrangements, you would need to talk to her about anything like that.
Caller: Yes, but she's more likely to do it if you ask her.

At least we both know this would be a business arrangement. Now he simply needs to understand that it's not my business. Sometimes sheer repetition is the key to dealing with situations like this.

Me: I'm not involved in any of her business arrangements. You would need to talk to her about that.
Caller: But she'll do it if you tell her to.

Okay, the broken-record technique doesn't seem to be working here. Let's try challenging some of his assumptions.

Me: So, why would I want to have her be submissive to you?

This seems to surprise him. There some hemming and stammering, and then he says,

Caller: I don't know, maybe like as a punishment?

Obviously he has a clear sense of what playing with him would be like for Jae.

Me: Look, I don't have that kind of relationship with Jae. I don't order her to play with strangers, and I don't punish her for things. (Although God knows it's a charming idea sometimes.) You're going to have to call Jae and talk to her about this yourself.

I silently apologize to Jae as I say this, knowing full well she'd prefer I tell this guy that he's not allowed to call her, ever. Sorry, honey, you'll have to handle this, I think, making a mental note to call her and give her a heads-up after I hang up with this guy.

Caller: I really wish you'd tell her to.
Me: No, I'm not going to do that.
Caller: I could pay you a fee.
Me: No, I do not want money from you. I will not be involved in this.
Caller: I'm really disappointed.
Me: I hear that.
Caller: Well, if that's your final word…
Me: Yes, it is.

Grumpily, he says goodbye and hangs up. I'm driving in heavy traffic and so I concentrate on the road for, perhaps, fifteen minutes. Then…

Ring ring!Me: Hello?
Caller: Hey, it's me.
Me: Hey Jae! How you doing, honey?
Jae: I'm fine. But I just got the weirdest fucking phone call. Listen, did you tell some guy you'd order me to bottom to him?

Friday, July 02, 2004

I went on my second date with Jake tonight. We had a lovely time, and he got to meet Max, which I'm pleased about. Max and I don't have an absolutely iron-clad rule about this like some poly couples we know, but we both strongly prefer that we meet each other's new partners before any clothing starts being shed. So I told Max where Jake and I were having dinner and he dropped by for a few minutes on his way to his date with Maura.
I did tell Jake this would be happening, in case you were wondering. But Jake's a guy who seems to roll with things fairly easily, so I doubt he would have been hugely thrown if Max had just walked up.

The three of us chatted a bit, and that was all fine, and then Max took off, having done the official primary-partner thing.

Not that Jake and I shed any of our clothing tonight. In fact, he's been so very gentlemanly towards me that I was sort of wondering what his – ahem – intentions were, and I decided to be direct about it. We went to Septieme for dessert after dinner, and I asked him straight out, "So, are you, like, attracted to me?"
He blinked at me. "Yes, can't you tell?"
Well, I wasn't sure. I mean, we've been having a great time talking and hanging out, and I could tell he liked me as a person, but that's different than wanting to jump someone.

That question has now been resolved to my satisfaction. He kisses very well...

Thursday, July 01, 2004

I knew I liked Bill Clinton. I mean, if I didn't, I wouldn't have stood in line for five and half hours in Pioneer Square - with a thousand or so other people - just to have him sign a copy of his book for me.

But now, having met him in person, shaken his hand, and had him smile at me – well, I think I have new fetish. (Roman, are you listening?) Oh, wow. Serious, but serious, charisma. In about seven seconds of interaction, he made me feel like I was the person he came there to see.

Max and I got downtown at about four in the afternoon, with folding chairs and an ice chest, and settled down at the back of a line of several hundred people. We weren't at the end of the line for long – I'm glad we didn't get there any later than we did, because pretty soon the line behind us was snaking up and down the square as the Elliot Bay Bookstore employees struggled to keep order. It wasn't easy, especially since a lot of people in line were joined by partners or friends, prompting a few accusations of line-jumping from touchy types in the crowd.

About six-thirty, the police and Secret Service agents started arriving. Guys in black suits with wires in their ears everywhere, and motorcycle cops cruising around and around the block.

At eight-fifteen, the word went through the crowd: he's here. I started getting excited.

About nine pm, our section of the line was within sight of the door. Bookstore employees instructed us in what we were allowed to take inside with us, and made sure the inner flap of the book jacket was tucked into the page Clinton would be signing, so it could easily be found.

Nine-thirty, and we're in the room with him, at the back of the line. I stared at him. He looks slimmer in person – or maybe he's just lost weight. But otherwise he looked just like he does on TV.

And then we were at the front of the line, and he signed my book. As I shook his hand, I smiled at him and said, "I wish you were still the president."

He looked me in the eye and said, "That's a nice thing to say, thank you." And he smiled back. I do not lie, I felt my heart beating faster. His assistant handed me my book back, and I walked away, but I paused and looked back at him over my shoulder. He happened to look up and catch my eye, and he smiled at me again. I think I actually blushed. I felt like a fourteen-year-old. I caught myself thinking, I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty? I had to shake myself: Matisse, get a grip. He can't even see you - he's smiled at so many people today, he probably hasn't completely focussed his eyes since he had breakfast.

I've met a few celebrities before, but I have not met many people who had such an effect on me in such a tiny space of time. And according to the lady counting heads at the door, I was the seven-hundredth-and-some-odd person at the Elliot Bay Bookstore whose book he had signed, and who he had smiled at and shaken hands with. He was at Costco earlier in the day, doing the same thing, and from what I hear his whole book-tour schedule has been pretty non-stop. I mean, that's a talent. Lots of people can be charming and attentive and make you feel special - for short spaces of time. I think I can do all right in that department myself on good days. But do that for hours and days on end - wow, that's impressive. I knew it intellectually before, but now that I've experienced just that little snippet...Well, all I can say is: Bill Clinton has definitely got a gift.

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

The Foot Worship Party

It all began late last year when I was contacted by a very polite man named Ben. He'd found me through my website and thought I'd be perfect for his project - could we meet? I agreed, and so we met at a Starbucks, where he explained his idea to me.

He wanted to throw a party for foot-fetishists, and he wanted me to attend. He would arrange for a suitable space, interview and approve a handful of models, publicize the event to foot-fetishists, host the party and see to it that things went according to plan…My part in this was to show up, look pretty, be charming, and allow the guests to kiss and caress and worship my feet – at twenty dollars per ten-minute interval. Guests, I might add, who had paid a healthy fee to Ben to attend the party to start with.

This sounded too good to be true. "Really? Just foot worship? No sex, no nudity?"
Ben looked horrified and hastened to reassure me. No sex whatsoever, he said.

I liked Ben - he had a nicely deferential attitude - but I wasn't sanguine about his project. I walked away from that meeting thinking, he's a sweet guy, but he'll never make it happen. The boys aren't gonna go for that set-up. I felt that guys who were into foot-worship would be too inhibited to engage in their fetish in front of other people.

I was wrong. You'd think a girl who used to be a dancer would have seen the parallels in the concept – now that I've done it, I find the arrangement very like doing private dances at a strip club. Both places create an atmosphere where it's permissable to be engaging in relatively intimate behavior in close proximity to other people, and so - it's okay. I mean, swingers clubs and public dungeons do this, too - but that's slightly different. Because of the economic element, I think a strip club is a more accurate analogy.

There was a hand-picked lineup of models – I think there were eight of us at this party – and a very interesting cross-section of guys. Out of between thirty and forty guys, there was a broad range of ages, apparent nationalities/races, and there seemed to be a range of socio-economic backgrounds, too, although that's harder to know for sure. Several of the guys had traveled here from out of town just for the party – in one case, all the way from the East Coast. I was slightly surprised to see several guys who couldn't have been more than twenty-five - I wouldn't have expected them to be at this party.

I arrived at the party Saturday night, checked in with Ben, changed into my sexy outfit, and joined the party. It was being held in a large Victorian-style house, and people were scattered throughout the living room, the hall, and the dining room. It was understood that the second floor bedrooms were for "foot sessions", as was the downstairs den. So the idea was to simply float, chatting and socializing, until you were asked to do a session.

It didn't take long. I had seen that other girls were already coming and going from the private rooms when I arrived. (I came late – the Mistress's privilege.) And after Ben gave me a glowing introduction to the room, it was only a few minutes before one of the men I was chatting with said, "So, would you like to go downstairs?"

Now, I love having my feet kissed and touched – sometimes it's a sexual turn-on, and sometimes it's just very sensually pleasurable, like a good massage. It depends on the guy, the setting, and my mood. But it's always a good thing, and I don't recall ever having said to myself, "Okay, I think I have had enough of that now." However, at the end of the party, I stood up and thought, Well, I think I actually got enough tonight.

I also had an almost embarrassingly large wad of cash stuffed into the waistband of my outfit. (Sexy-girl clothes never have pockets.) At one point I kept trying to go put my money into my purse, but every time one guy finished his session, thanked me and got up, another one would appear. So I'd sit back down on the couch, clean my feet with a paper towel and the tongue-friendly cleanser Ben provided, and start all over again. I didn't have a session with every guy there, but I did get to most of them, and a number of them did two or three sessions with me.

So that was the party I went to Saturday night. It was actually the second foot-party I've been to, but the first one was cut short by an unfortunate visit from the police department. I'll tell you about that some other time…

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Note to my friends: I will be out of town July 15th to 19th to attend the BDSM conference Thunder In The Mountains, so if you're thinking of trying to book something with me soon, please plan accordingly...

"Pedogirl"? Now, what is that about? "BodyBag"? "Cheese"? "Cuckold"? Oh, I ask you...

And, "dog"? God, I don't even want to think about that one too much.

"Pottery"? Well, all right, that one seems like a long shot - but, hey, whatever...

Wow, someone really wants to know about Miss K, don't they? Mike would be amused to know he's getting that many queries. And what is Max, chopped liver? One lousy query, that's all he gets? He is my primary partner, folks.

And what's up with my dentist's name - "Chad"? I know I mentioned him in my column once, but people - that was a joke. I don't really consider visiting my dentist to be a D/s experience. Jesus...

Monday, June 28, 2004

I got a note from a guy recently who said some very nice things about me and my column, and then said he wanted to…

…ask you for advice. I know it's the classic scenario, but how can I get my vanilla wife to be more interested in the D/s lifestyle? She knows my sexual interests - which aren't even very extreme, just spanking and bondage. We have open and honest communication together - when I openly and honestly communicate what I want to do, she openly and honestly says, "No."

Well, that sucks, and you do have my sympathy. I've had partners who didn't share my sexual interests, and it's a problem. But unfortunately, there isn't a single thing you can do to make someone be turned on by something if they're not. You can't argue or reason or persuade someone into being kinky. If you really whine about it a whole lot, you may be able to nag her into grudgingly tying you up or spanking you. And believe me, that will exactly as exciting as it sounds. Resentful pity-fucks – oooh, that's sexy! Not.

You will not change your wife's sexual makeup. (She may choose to change herself, but you have no control over that process, and it doesn't sound that that's going to happen anytime soon.) So you have three options. You can a) stay with your wife and reconcile yourself to not getting your kinky desires satisfied, b) stay with your wife and get your kinky desires met elsewhere, either with or without her knowledge and permission, or c) you can get divorced and seek a kinky partner.

I'm not telling you what you should do – I'm just laying out your choices. But according to your email, you're rather young, younger than many people when they marry for the first time. Giving up on a chunk of your sexual desires at your age – well, I can't imagine anyone doing that without building up a whole lot of resentment towards their partner for it. That's poison to a relationship. If you think it would be hard to negotiate with your partner about your extra-curricular kink options now, just wait another ten years. It'll be even harder. The same goes for splitting up entirely.

I have a slip of paper from a Chinese fortune cookie taped to my computer monitor. It's been there since I was in the middle of separating from my husband. I was eating dinner with Miss K, and waffling about the relationship, and I opened the cookie and read this fortune: "Make up your mind and do what you want to do."

Not a very complex statement, but somehow it spoke to me. I read it as, "Matisse, stop trying to do what you think you ought to do, and do what you know is the right thing for you." I went ahead with the divorce, which was the best choice for me.

I'm not telling you that you should dump your wife – I don't know. But I think if you examine yourself very closely, at some deep level you know what you need to do. You'll have to examine your own mind and see what's the most important to you, and then talk to your wife about that. I wish you luck…

Sunday, June 27, 2004

Really Nice Things That Have Happened To Me Lately…

One of my favorite clients, Blue Eyes, purchased and installed one window-unit air conditioner in my workspace, and a second one is coming. This is the nicest and most exactly-what-I-needed gift I've gotten in a while, and I'm extremely pleased by what he's done for me. What a wonderful man.

I went to the Foot-Party, which I will give a detailed report on later…But while I was there, a very pretty eighteen-year-old girl came up me and said, "My friend and I saw you at the last foot-party, and we decided that you just exuded sex appeal like crazy. Every you did was sexy – the way you walked, the way you flipped your hair, the way you laughed - everything. We just thought you were so cool, and we decided that was the difference between being eighteen-year-old girls and being a woman."
What an amazing compliment! I mean, it's great when guys tell you you're hot. But for a lovely young girl to say this to me – well, I was really touched.

Matisse's Axiom on Sexual Attraction: If a woman feels desirable when she's with you, she will feel desire for you. I spent a lovely evening recently with a man who made me feel like I was the most beautiful and the most fascinating creature he'd ever seen. Roman was attractive to me before - he's doubly so now…